Plan of Action
by Sarah Kathleen
Summary: Commodore Norrington's thoughts of Elizabeth, Will, and Jack on the battlements. Fourth and final of the Norrington vignettes.


Disclaimer: I wish they were mine. I really do. But they aren't. ::sniffle::  
  
Author's Note: I decided that since the other was so short, I'd post both of these at the same time. So here you are. This is probably my favorite of the four; I hope you like it to. Let me know if I should do an entire Norrington fic. It'd probably be N/OC, so keep that in mind. Well, I'm off!  
  
*  
  
"As is mine."  
  
James didn't know what to feel, not really. But he couldn't say that he was surprised. His subconscious had known, the entire time, that it was really just a hopeless cause for him, but his conscious mind had insisted that everything would work out.  
  
So much for that.  
  
"Elizabeth!" As per norm, Governor Swann panicked at the thought of his daughter in any sort of jeopardy. "Lower your weapons." Oddly enough, his men didn't move. Had he been in his normal frame of mind, he would have sent them a look that suggested immediate performance of orders. As it was, he could barely breathe, and not simply because his overcoat was tailored a bit too tightly. "For goodness sake put, them down!"  
  
Reluctantly, his men did as ordered.  
  
He didn't want to speak - his throat hurt almost too much to allow talking - but because he had to know, he forced his voice to work.  
  
"So this is where your hear truly lies, then?"  
  
His voice shook far too much for what would have normally been his own liking. Had he been in the position to care, he would have noticed this in the first place.  
  
Elizabeth nodded slightly and swallowed, but stood firm. "It is."  
  
He couldn't look at her any longer, and so his eyes met the stone beneath his feet.  
  
"Well!"  
  
He'd honestly forgotten that Sparrow was still there, but it took merely that one syllable to remind him. When all else fails, rely on your duty to carry you through. That was what his father and older brother had always told him; even Jack had, once, agreed with it whole-heartedly as well. Thus James believed it; if three of the greatest men in his life believed those words to be true, how could they not be?  
  
Now he would test them.  
  
Jack came out from behind Will and Elizabeth. "I'm actually feeling rather good about this." He moved toward the governor, addressing the man. "I think we've all arrive at a very special place, eh."  
  
Swann couldn't hide his disgust, which would have been almost amusing under normal circumstances.  
  
"Spiritually. Ecumenically. Grammatically."  
  
Then, the oddest thing happened: Jack swaggered over and stood directly in front of James and said, "I want you to know that I was rooting for you, mate."  
  
To anyone observing, this meant nothing. To James, and perhaps even to Jack, it meant a great deal. To any bystander, it was the act of a half-mad man; but to James, it was almost an apology for what had been done in the past few moments - not the escape, but Elizabeth's rejection. His manner was just as odd as what was typical, but his eyes were too serious for it to be anything else.  
  
Oddly enough, they were almost the exact same words James had said when Jack had been rejected by a woman - well, at the time, girl.  
  
"Know that," Jack said, backing away, and James was, frankly, too bewildered to do much at all except watch him almost incredulously.  
  
He made to walk away, but stopped. "Elizabeth."  
  
The woman addressed looked at the pirate. "It would never have worked between us, darling. I'm sorry." He actually looked regretful; Elizabeth's only reaction was a look that said, 'Right. I'm sorry, too, Jack.'  
  
Jack went on to the steps, but stopped again. "Will." The blacksmith looked back. At an apparent lack for anything better to say, Jack said, "Nice hat."  
  
It was at this point that James' sense returned fully, and he moved forward as Jack mounted the steps. The pirate turned and said, "Friends!" then realized that he was too far forward to make a decent escape after his speech and dashed to the edge and faced them all. After an instant to regain his bearings, he began, "This is the day you will always remember as the day that-"  
  
The he took one step too far back, cutting his speech short as he tumbled backward.  
  
Admittedly, it wasn't merely because of his desire to catch and appropriately punish all existing pirates that James was the first to rush forward to the edge of the battlement. Elizabeth and Will were just behind him, and soon they were sufficiently crowded at the rather perilous edge, watching the pirate tumble down into the Caribbean Sea.  
  
As was expected, Gillette wasn't far behind, and stood just beside him. "Idiot," he said somewhat scornfully, but almost triumphantly as well. "He has no where to go but back to the noose."  
  
There was a point to that, but James wasn't sure he'd be able to make a second attempt at hanging the man. Damnation and hell fire, he simply couldn't forget that that pirate had once been his brother!  
  
But perhaps fate was kind to him, in a way - it may have taken Elizabeth from him, yes, but it kept him from hanging his own brother.  
  
"Sail ho!"  
  
Everyone looked up, nearly in unison, as comical as the thought was. Sure enough, black sails - newly replaced, or perhaps repaired, and whole - were well within cannon range.  
  
"What's your plan of action?"  
  
Of course. A plan of action. This was a pirate, after all. They couldn't simply let him get away. Gillette didn't know that his superior was making one of the hardest decisions of his life.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
He struggled to find a way to avoid the question. He had to do something; duty called for action. But not only was that pirate his one-time brother, but also, Jack had done nothing to warrant death, not really. No murder, no rape; just a lot of thievery and impersonation. Enough to earn one a jail sentence, perhaps even a hefty jail sentence, but not death.  
  
And simply because he hadn't been turned inside out with surprise enough times in one day, it was Governor Weatherby Swann to rescue him.  
  
"Perhaps on the rare occasion pursuing the right course demands an act of piracy, piracy itself can be the right course?"  
  
His lips tugged into a small, very wry smile. That had been William Turner's frame of mind when he had made his very rash decision to go after Elizabeth. Perhaps, just this once, it wouldn't be so bad to take that frame of mind as well.  
  
James came to several decisions at once, and, as any well-trained naval officer would do, he dealt the with most important straight away.  
  
"Mr. Turner."  
  
He turned and made down the steps, waiting for the blacksmith to follow. He turned and stopped in time to see Will turn to accept whatever the Commodore saw fit to bestow him with and Elizabeth grab his hand.  
  
James realized at that moment just how horribly off he had been in judging Elizabeth's understanding of him: She thought that he would sentence Mr. Turner to imprisonment or worse. And perhaps he had the right to, and the law would back him on it. But to see the fact displayed on her face that she thought he would do the worst made several things clear.  
  
"I will accept the consequences of my actions," Turner told her, and she reluctantly let his hand slip from hers.  
  
The bravery and responsibility for his actions the blacksmith showed in facing his possible punishment was encouraging. Yes, James thought, this is the right thing. Not the easiest, by far, but right.  
  
Will Turner stood before him proudly, but at the same time humble enough to accept whatever punishment given to him. James raised the blade.  
  
Governor Swann had told him that it was commissioned to Mr. Brown. James knew that the man was never sober enough to clean himself, let alone make such a fine weapon. And he had seen the apprentice's skill before, but had never had the chance to make a comment.  
  
"This is a beautiful sword," he said, eyeing the blade critically. He didn't have to think about his words. They simply flowed from the heart to the tongue. It was something he rarely allowed to take place, but in this case, anything he thought about before he spoke would not have been appropriate. This had a significance that he hoped the rather naive blacksmith would grasp; he didn't want to have to explain said significance. "I would expect the man who made it to show the same care and devotion in every aspect of his life."  
  
James' eyes shifted to meet Turner's and he saw that, indeed, the pirate-blacksmith had grasped the significance: 'You would be a much better husband for her than I would, given that, no matter how much I might love her, you're the one she loves, and it's her decision. She has chosen you. Do well by her.' "My compliments," he finished.  
  
The look in the younger man's eyes had gone from forced subservience and natural subservience due to social rank, to respect and even gratitude. "Thank you."  
  
He nodded slightly, lowered the blade, and turned away before he could add something less graceful; he'd said something wonderful and symbolic, he wasn't about to turn the whole thing into a meaningless mess by letting his mouth take hold.  
  
Then he remembered something: He had yet to let Elizabeth know that her promise had been thrown to the winds by James himself. He turned back to them. "Oh, and Miss Swann."  
  
There was a definite note of anxiousness in her expression, a fact that was almost amusing. Yes, he decided firmly. This is the right thing. He offered her a smile. It was a small smile, but a genuine one nonetheless. "The very best of luck to you both."  
  
Her relief was obvious, and she flashed him a small smile in return. His second smile was smaller than the first, but it was still detectable. He glanced down, then, after glancing at the couple once more, James turned, doing his best to put mental finality to the gesture, as if by turning away from them, he could turn away from his feelings for Miss. Swann.  
  
A man can dream that such a thing is possible, he thought.  
  
"Commodore!"  
  
James stopped and looked up at Gillette, who had the strangest expression on his face: A mixture of anger, frustration, and bewilderment. He was have to ask the Lievtenant about it later.  
  
"What about Sparrow?" he asked. James glanced out at the ocean to Sparrow's beloved ship, almost in a manner that said, 'Oh, yes, Sparrow. What *shall* we do about him? I say we forget about it for now, and the next time we see him, we'll invite him to dinner. How does that sound? I think it sounds reasonable, myself.'  
  
But, of course, such sarcasm, though rather rare, was generally believed by the public, including the governor and his daughter, to be out of his character. Gillette himself would, more than likely, have triumphantly concluded that, 'Ha! I've finally gotten him to show his true sense of humor in *public*!'  
  
"Shall we prepare the 'Dauntless' in pursuit?" Gillette asked, and James decided against making a total fool of himself and saying the sarcasm-laden words he so desperately wanted to say. This was also the perfect opportunity to push that horrible day that he would be forced to hang his brother back once more, and he planned to take advantage of it.  
  
"Oh, I think we can afford to give him one day's head start," James said. He gave a jerk of his eyebrows; those who knew him would interpret the movement as, 'It's about bloody time, too; we've not had a decent challenge such as this in far too long.'  
  
He turned once more, making his way toward his office, where he would continue with his daily affairs. After all, pirates wouldn't stop attacking cities and ships in the Eastern Caribbean merely because the chief defender of the Eastern Caribbean was suffering from heartbreak and severe emotional conflicts. Piracy carried on, and thus so would he, despite all.  
  
As it was, his younger sister, whose daughter had been in his care for a little over a year, had always told him, "If you give up, James, I will never forgive you. There is always tomorrow." Emily Norrington had always been optimistic in that way. "There is always tomorrow."  
  
Indeed. Naval officers always had a plan of action. Always. And so - as he proceeded to change his mind and, instead of going to his office to continue, decided to go home to see his niece, and possibly even the child's governess, who was a dear friend of equal social rank, though her occupation was unbecoming of said social rank - he came up with a plan of action: To see what tomorrow held.  
  
That was his plan of action.  
  
* 


End file.
